


The secret behind the white mask

by evildoughnut



Series: Obsessions and masks [1]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game), Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Eventual Smut, Fighting Kink, First Time, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Obsessive Behavior, Past Child Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Psychological Horror, Rough Oral Sex, Smut, Stabbing, Stalking, Threats of Violence, no one is having a good time in the fog, the doctor is a dick, top trapper, unbeta'd we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-10-26 00:26:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17735519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evildoughnut/pseuds/evildoughnut
Summary: The Trapper lives only for the kill and the Entity, that is until The Shape sparks his interest. He becomes obsessed with finding out more about the man, a task he realizes is easier said than done. What starts off as simple curiosity about what is behind Michael Myer’s powers and past evolves into something more.





	1. Chapter 1

There were moments between the trials that The Trapper remembered being something else, something human. He sometimes looked at his scarred hands, touched his grinning mask and remembered when it was his power and influence that instilled fear rather than his monstrous figure and the promise of violence. This felt unreal to him, like a distant dream that echoed in his mind. Echoed like the screams of the hundreds he killed in the dark tunnels before he came to this cryptic and foggy realm.

Evan Macmillan didn’t dream anymore. 

He didn’t even sleep; he waited. 

The Trapper waited for the whispers of the Entity that call for the blood of the sacrificed and when it did he rose with cleaver in hand to hunt. The screams of his victims and the snaps of his traps echoed in the endless fog and he could feel that the Entity was pleased. The whispers caressed Evan’s mind with its approval and this feeling of praise could be the only thing that rivaled the thrill of the slaughter.

When he was done and the blood had been shed, he waited again. 

Time was meaningless now. This strange place must be what they called purgatory. Perhaps the preachers of his youth were right and he was a lost soul, repenting. The trapper didn’t feel lost, however, because he had a purpose. With his cunning and brutal strength he fed the fright and flesh of his victims to the Entity. Repenting would imply regret and he actually relished the viciousness that pleased It. 

That used to please his father. 

If anything, Evan Macmillan now knew that since the day he was born it was too late for him to be anything else. He was both a humble servant and a cruel enforcer. 

Just like he was for father’s estate. His estate. 

Father. Where was he now? 

He didn’t wonder long before he was called for another trial and raised again, cleaver in hand.

Then one day, The Trapper wasn’t alone in the fog anymore. Others like him joined and suddenly the world around him and his waking life between trials felt more tangible.

They too now served the Entity and used their abilities to devour hope and shed sacrificial blood. Although the whispers of the Entity spoke for themselves, The Trapper was sure to remind them that there are rules to be followed. It was so hard, at times, to offer up the meat to the sacrificial hook. The new killers were pleased to know that if you did well and burned your offerings you could be rewarded with a kill of your own. This was usually the case but The Trapper learned that though all of the new comers all had the same purpose some could use peculiar abilities to claim the kills. 

Evan saw the emancipated hag use her strange witchcraft and with enough hard work and protected totems, she was able to kill and eat her prey’s entrails. He also saw the hapless spirit, fueled by her unrelenting rancor, target one survivor and cut them down without offerings. The Trapper, though annoyed at the exception to the rules, understood that these women were supernatural in nature and so it was only logical that they could do strange things he could not. They had both suffered greatly prior to their deaths; their pain and hatred became something else with the help of the Entity. They still suffered now. 

This, however, did not apply to The Shape. 

The Trapper could not understand how this man, eerily quiet and masked, could go in a trial with a stone and a fist full of hair and claim the kills. He wasn’t a demon or a spirit, so what could allow him to defy the Entity’s rules? Though Evan’s existence in the fog had been relatively simple so far, he found himself troubled greatly by this mystery. The unanswered question sparked Evan’s interest in something other than the trials in what felt like an eternity. He decided that he would not rest until he found out the secret behind the unmoving white mask.

 

The Trapper soon realized that his endeavor was going to be more difficult than he imagined. He had never entertained the idea of doing much of anything other than waiting at the Macmillan estate between trials, so he found himself unclear how to proceed. Inspiration came from the only thing he knew; hunting and tracking; and so he made his way to Haddonfield with intent. He spent some time observing The Shape between trials but this didn’t bring him any closer to uncovering who the other man was. 

The Shape would sit silently on his porch, dimly lit by an ever-burning jack-o lantern. He would at times be admiring his long kitchen knife, but otherwise remained disquietingly void of reaction. He would occasionally stroke a lock of hair before a trial and though his expression was entirely unreadable behind his mask, The Trapper could feel the difference in his energy. As if something deadly and malicious sparked inside him. If he knew that Evan was watching him he made no signs of it. 

After some time The Trapper realized that stalking the man brought him nowhere. He considered the possibility of making his presence more obvious to the other, to potentially coax a reaction out of him. Evan had always relied on his unnerving presence to intimidate others, even before he became the monster he now was. How would it fare against the other killer, he wasn’t certain. Would this lead to a violent eruption? This was better than nothing, a lot could be learned about a man from engaging in a fight. Would the other confront him verbally, demanding to know why he was on his territory? This would be, by far, the very best case scenario but he highly doubted words would ever come out of the blank masked man. 

A man of action, he decided to test this new approach. Standing as domineer as he could across the empty suburban street, Evan crossed his arms over his broad chest in clear view of the other. He locked eyes with The Shape, who slowly tilted his head at him with a cold and apathetic silence and nothing else. There wasn’t a trace of killing intent from the evil within reserved for the trials, only pure indifference. 

Incredulous and frustrated, The Trapper turned and left Haddonfield. 

 

Evan shared the realm of the fog with the other killers but this did not mean that he had formed bonds with them. Most of them were shells of their former selves and lived only for the kill, consequently forming relationships with one another was unlikely. Words were rarely exchanged in their times between trials since they mainly spent it in sullen solitude in their own realms. Sometimes, rarely, a killer could find an affinity with another. 

For example, The Trapper had traded tools and tips with Amanda Young since they both manufactured their own deadly contraptions. They were, at the very least, tolerant of each other’s presence. He respected the commitment she displayed to John Kramer’s legacy but that in itself did not mean he enjoyed her company. He was sure the feeling was mutual; the killers didn’t enjoy much of anything.

Herman Carter was the only other killer with whom Evan Macmillan shared a tentative if not dysfunctional relationship and so, at a loss, he found himself seeking his advice. 

They both sat in The Doctor’s office, the later behind his desk and The Trapper in the crimson patted chair in front of it. Evan didn’t understand what it was about the office but it brought sudden fading reveries of his time before the Entity. It would just be flashes, like pulsating electricity. They were only vagueness; an image of him lighting a cigarette on a red divan or unintelligible conversations around blue prints. He always suspected that it was The Doctor himself that was the cause. Herman Carter seemed so intent on cracking open everyone’s minds, or what little was left of it after the Entity’s influence. This became painfully obvious as soon as he heard The Doctor’s jeering cackle at his expense after he explained the reason of his visit. 

Herman had removed his mouth gear, as he usually would during The Trapper’s visits to facilitate dialogue, but kept the perturbing eye clamps. Evan regretted coming here and giving the other man a reason to antagonize him. Under the horrible, unblinking eyes of The Doctor, Evan felt scrutinized and vulnerable. He fleetingly considered lunging over the wooden desk to force his thumbs in his eye sockets. 

Instead, The Trapper clenched his fist and threw a hard glare at The Doctor as if to warn him. He rumbled behind his mask “So, do you know anything about him or not?” 

Herman cradled his chin in his hand, elbow of his desk, clearly unfazed by the other’s aggravated demeanor “He never spoke a word to me either, and you know how convincing I can be, Evan.”

Evan did know. 

The Doctor stared at him quietly for a moment, as if savoring his disappointment, before he added, “He was institutionalized, that I am sure of.”

Evan scoffed and turned his gaze away from Herman’s, looking at the many dusty books in the shelves surrounding them. “How the hell would you know that? You just said you never spoke to the man.”

“I’ve spent enough time researching at an asylum to tell. I’ve also spent enough time breaking minds to know he is a though one to crack. ” He laughed his eerie laugh again at that. 

The Trapper considered this new information. Most of the killers were objectively certifiably insane but the idea that The Shape had spent a portion of his life locked away under observation was helping Evan get a better sense him. The Trapper knew the mental institutions of his era to be a fate worse than death, the invalid were locked away and left to die in their own filth. The world of the fog existed in its own time structure so many of its boarders came from eras far more modern than his. Carter had told him about advancement in contemporary times, the marvel of lobotomies, shock therapy and drugs. Was their treatment the reason The Shape was a silent, insidious murderer or was he born that way?

There was something else the Trapper was curious about, something that a medical professional could know. “Is he mute?”

“I believe his silence is voluntary.” The Doctor tilted his head and added in a rational matter, waving his hand dismissively. “There are others like us who are silent, so I suppose it’s nothing so abnormal.”

The Trapper shook his head “No, it’s different with him. Like it’s not the Entity that took away his will to speak.” 

“Is that so?” Herman looked at the other with mirth, elbows on his desk and fingers drumming together. “I also came to that conclusion but I’m surprised you did too. You don’t exactly seem like the analytical type.” 

The Trapper scoffed at that and The Doctor considered him gravely for a moment. “Why are you interested, Evan?” 

The Trapper shrugged and grunted vaguely. “I just want to know, that’s all. No rhyme or reason.” 

“Is that so?” Much to Evan’s annoyance, he picked up his pen and started jolting down some notes. “I do find it so very odd that you want to know about him in particular when you are completely uninterested in the others. You must have an end goal to all of this. ” 

The Trapper glowered at him, hands drumming lighting on the arms of his chair but said nothing. He liked to think that even if he himself knew the answer to the question he wouldn’t give The Doctor the satisfaction. He wondered once again why he came to him. He wondered why he always came back to speak with this man that took perverse joy in making him confused. 

His silence did not seem to deter The Doctor from continuing. He leaned over his desk, staring penetratingly at Evan. “ Do you want to control him? The way you controlled the Macmillan estate?” His tone changed slightly to a cruel undertone. “ The way your father controlled you?”

The Trapper clenched his teeth under his mask and gripped the arms of his chair with such strength he felt the old wood crack under his scarred fingers.  
His deep voice growled out venomously “You shut your filthy mouth, Carter, before I rip your jaw out of your skull.” This was not an empty threat coming from the brutish man and still The Doctor rose from behind his desk and walked over audaciously. 

Standing in all his commanding height before The Trapper now, The Doctor was fueled by sadistic delight knowing his words were getting under his skin. He tilted his head and continued with renewed fervor and cruelty. “Do you want to punish him?” He grinned despite the other’s menacing glare and continued “The way you want to punish me now? The way you fear the entity will punish you for wanting something other than to serve it?” 

He cackled his horrible laugh and leaned in close, whispering in his ear. “Or perhaps you want to use him, Evan. Use his body, like you did that-” 

Strong hands tightened around Herman’s throat and stopped his words short as The Trapper lunged at him with rage. He shoved The Doctor back against the desk and pinned him between the wood and his own large frame, papers scattering around their struggling bodies. Evan tightened his grip around his throat as he began striking his horrible cackling face with a closed fist. He was too drunk on the sight of blood blossoming under his increasingly vicious hits to notice The Doctor’s own hands reach up and clasp his head. He cried out in agony as the pulsating electric shocks tore through his body, turning his vision white and making him lose his grip on the other. 

The Trapper felt the vice like grasp around his head tighten before another pulse of electricity hit him violently. This time around something else came to him along side the pain. It was a vision of his past and he saw his naked body, still imposing but much younger and unscarred, pinning another young man down. What they were doing was obvious, the pleasured moans of the other where deafening under his thrusting hips. The Trapper didn’t remember who the other man was and it surely didn’t matter. It was a forbidden lust that could surely tarnish the Macmillan estate. He felt the fear of disgrace hit him anew as it did back then, he saw himself threaten the boy with promise of a violent death if he ever told anyone. 

Almost as suddenly as it came the vision passed and only a dull throbbing ache and the vague memory remained. 

The Doctor was sitting on his desk staring at him with his unblinking eyes and he was cackling that insane laugh as he wiped the blood oozing from his mouth with the back of his sleeve. The pain from the attack didn’t seem to faze him in the least, if anything he had an even smugger look on his mutilated face. “Remembered something enlightening, Evan?” He raised his other hand, balling it in a fist as electricity surged from it. He tilted his head at him and tittered “Of course you did. My treatment is effective, as always.” 

The Trapper growled and enraged, he kicked the chair towards The Doctor, unsurprisingly it shattered like a dropped pallet. The destruction of his property didn’t impress him any more than Evan's vicious blows. Unable to stand the madness of the unsettling laughter and unwilling to get in another struggle, he turned and started walking out of the office. 

Herman called after him “Evan, you came to me for advice, didn’t you?” Evan, fists balled and visibly wound up, didn’t pause his stride at the words. He was determined to just end this foolishness and never return to Lery’s. He almost deceived himself into thinking that this visit was his last; that he meant it this time. 

The Doctor continued, knowing full well that the other could still hear him “I suggest you try asking that feisty little prey, Laurie Strode. She’s also from Haddonfield and I believe she knows your obsession intimately.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh geez, I haven’t written anything in many years but I love this freaking game so I figured I’d take a swing at it. If you find any mistakes please let me know. Tips and suggestions are always welcome!


	2. Chapter 2

Evan Macmillan noticed that some of the survivors became bolder in his presence over time. They used to cower in fear in in the early days; his overwhelming presence instilled dread and made them fumble. Now he felt that some of them were down right insolent, trying to attract his attention to buy some time for their companions. Snapping his traps shortly after her set them. Perhaps, after a while, being revived over and over in this hellish realm hardened one to the instinctual primal fear of death. There was also the possibility, as much as it pained him to admit it, that they became used to his tactics and their bravery stemmed from knowing they could counter his strengths. This would not do. 

The Trapper previously paid little attention to the survivors, viewing them as insignificant lamb to the slaughter, so it took him some effort to recall whom Laurie Strode was. This independent blonde girl who appeared around the same time as The Shape had never caught his eye all that much before. 

There was only one prey in particular, a sniffling excuse of a young man with black hair and glasses, on whom he loved to focus his attention on. There was just something about his demeanor that made him want to target and torment him. Few things were as pleasing as grabbing him by the scruff of the neck out of a locker he thought he was cleverly hiding in.

The special attention he gave this one victim paled in comparison to the steadily growing interest he had for The Shape. 

His focus now shifted to the Strode girl. As much as he was upset at Herman Carter, The Doctor did in fact give him some insightful advice by leading him to her. Not that he would give him the satisfaction of telling him so. 

Evan knew that he had to double his efforts if he wanted his plan to work. There could be no mercy and no mistakes. 

The Trapper was a patient man when he had to be, so he strenuously worked on new parts for his traps. He frugally saved his offerings for realms he knew he could gain the upper hand in. If he wasn’t laboring away in his shed on his deadly contraptions he was plotting strategies on the placement for his traps. He observed his preys with even more intent so that he could predict their actions. 

Evan’s labors turned him in an absolute monster and his trials became bloodbaths and he felt their dread return. He felt their agitation when they spotted one of his traps on the map and realized whom they were facing. The anxiety of his preys made them act rashly, made them misstep, and the kills followed up swiftly. It slowly became a self-fulfilling prophecy. 

Evan knew that The Entity was delighted and he felt a strange combination of guilt and satisfaction. His actions weren’t solely out of pure altruistic devotion for the Entity’s goals; he wanted to claim a reward, of sorts. He wanted to be forgiven in advance.

The Trapper was ready now; he simply needed to wait for his opportunity that was sure to present itself soon. He knew the time ultimately had come as he gazed upon his victims from afar and he saw that Laurie had finally been chosen to participate in the trial. He burned an ebony memento mori and stepped into the fog with a zealous determination and his deadliest traps in his weather-beaten bag. 

Confidence filled him as he looked around and realized they materialized in the dark and misty realm of Crotus Prenn Asylum. Evan could have laughed at the irony as he spotted the aura of the Strode girl from afar and knew she could see him back. An object of obsession indeed and it only facilitated his task. The Entity must truly be pleased with him, he thought as he set to work, wasting no time placing his traps in the ideally long grass. 

He allowed the survivors to work and complete two generators as he primed the half of the map that would ultimately seal their fate. They now needed to move closer to his prepared territory if they wanted to escape and they paid the price in blood. The traps he cunningly placed and crafted were near impossible to escape from, even with the help of another. Worse yet, if they tried to disarm them, the slippery grime layered on the coils made them lose their grip and the rusted jaws snapped shut ruthlessly, injuring them in the process. 

The Trapper was then shortly upon them with cruel decisive blows from his heavy cleaver and their screams pierced the fog as the hooks impaled them. He was systematic in his hunt, targeting the saboteur first, and the healer second and merrily he went after the bespectacled reluctant leader. He was cautious; hooking the girl he sought only once, to not arouse suspicion while keeping her alive. 

Loosing focus on the generators in favor of helping their fallen comrades, the survivor’s injuries and hooks multiplied and progress stalled. The Trapper could almost taste the last bit of hope drain from them as he finally started killing them with his hand. Shortly after, three bloodied and lifeless bodies littered the grass. 

And then there were one.

Evan knew where she would be heading now, even without reading her aura. 

His victims had repaired enough generators for The Entity to graciously spawn and unlock the black lock for the last survivor to escape. Unfortunately for the final girl, he had spotted it early on and prepared for that. He had placed some very obvious traps he knew Laurie would evade in her run for the hatch. She looked back at him cockily and sidestepped to avoid the deadly jaws, only to fall victim to his ruse and get caught in an adjacent hidden one. He was near enough to hear the bones in her ankle snap before she let out an earsplitting scream of pain and frustration. She had been so close. 

The Trapper took his time as he walked meaningfully over to the girl, his large frame looming over her, blood dripping from his weapon. He wanted her to bask in his demoralizing heartbeat and be confronted the how palpably she was at his mercy. From behind his frightening mask he stared down at her, taking in her labored breathing and her obvious suffering. He saw that she was waiting for the killing blow. He squatted down in front of her and she winced slightly, expecting the end but clearly not expecting what came next. 

“Tell me all you know about him.” His voice was deep and commanding, making it clear that this was not a request but an order.

The outlandish look of utter shock on her young face would have been amusing if it were any other circumstance. Evan was thankful his own features were hidden because it took him a moment to understand her reaction. 

She had never heard him talk.

She had probably never heard any killer speak before. 

The Trapper contemplated this and decided to be lenient. He spoke again, his voice an octave lower. “Well? Answer me, girl.” 

She opened her mouth and at first no sound came out and Evan was concerned that perhaps she wouldn’t be able to respond at all. There are certain constancies in the realm of the fog and he certainly never heard the survivors communicate with words. Could it be that the Entity’s powers prevented them from doing so? That this exchange was doomed from the start? 

He was relieved when she finally stuttered out “Wh.. wha…who?” 

“The one that came with you from Haddonfield.” He was feeling less lenient now, his tone reflecting that fact.

Laurie still looked perplexed at the situation she found herself in but a look of understanding illuminated her pretty face. “You mean … the bogeyman?” 

Evan tilted his head at that. ‘The boogey man’. How childish this all sounded, though he figured she wasn’t really wrong. This girl was seasoned by the trauma of victimization and the Entity’s trials but still so very young. 

“Yes. Tell me about him.”

“…Why?” It was barely a whisper.  


The Trapper was getting tired of being asked that question. Hearing it from a mere prey was even more infuriating. He lifted his heavy cleaver above his head and swung it down, impaling it into the ground right beside the trapped girl. She gasped at that with eyes shut, having braced herself for the same death that had befallen her comrades. The final blow hadn’t come and she opened her eyes to look at him, further confused. 

“I don’t like repeating myself.” He warned. 

There was a newly found defiance to her now, her fighting instincts of sole survivor finally kicking in. A courage fueled by her rage of being asked about the psychopath that targeted her and inadvertently ruined her life. 

“Fuck you. Just kill me already.” 

This was not the right answer. He grabbed her by the hair in one violent motion and with his other hand squeezed the rusty jaws of the bear trap on her wrecked ankle. Blood started flowing anew and she felt the grimy metal dig further into her bone. She cried out in agony and tried as best she could to pry his hands away with her nails but to no avail. 

The Trapper was bellowing at her now “Girl, death is no escape from this!” He tightened his hold on her blonde locks and shook her head once warningly before leaning in closer. “You seem clever, so think about the fact that there is no one left but me and I can do whatever I want with you.” 

Her face was twisted in pain and she stared at him wide-eyed. The insolence was long gone and replaced by distress. 

He stopped shouting; it was unnecessary now. Instead he lowered his voice to a foreboding undertone and increased his grip on her hair a bit more. He could feel some of her blonde strands ripping from her scalp. “If you answer me, I will let you leave alive. If you insist on being stubborn, well … I guess I can take my time to make you reconsider.” 

He didn’t want any implicit threats, he rather let her imagination run wild with whatever horrors her adolescent mind could muster. He relinquished his brutish hold on her now and waited for her answer. The outcome was obvious, the girl had the will to live and he had the will to kill.

She started talking then, eyes downcast and clearly still hunted by the memories she was detailing. 

His name is Michael Myers. He killed his older sister Judith Myers when he was just a small child and the senseless horror of it all shook the whole town. The six-year-old was quickly apprehended and institutionalized, not that that did much good, the girl bitterly remarked. Locked away for fifteen years until he escaped on Halloween and returned home. He stalked her, something he is incredibly adept at, apparently. He mercilessly killed her friends one by one before going after her. He was a born killer and seemingly unstoppable. 

“You can’t kill the boogey man.” She stated dejectedly before her features hardened and she added, looking up at The Trapper. “But I tried, believe me I did.” 

“He tried to kill me and I stabbed him in his eye.” 

There was coldness in her eyes. There was a certain spite there that did not belong on what should be an innocent young woman. Evan was markedly stronger and crueler than her. In fact, he could effortlessly tear her frail body apart, limb from limb. Why then, did he feel agitation at her next words?

“Then I stabbed him with his knife. ”

It was then that Evan started piecing together that the arrival of Laurie Strode coincided with the sudden appearance of the decisive strike that was the bane of the killers’ trials. She’s the one who taught the preys how to fend for themselves, if only a little bit. They didn’t even know they could inflict physical harm on their tormentors before. He felt a sudden inexplicable unease at the realization and he considered simply killing this girl right there and then. He reached out instead to pry open his trap, freeing her from the painful grip of the rusty jaws. He then grabbed his cleaver lodged in the dirt beside her before silently rising and walking away. 

Laurie wasted no time limping towards the mysterious humming of the hatch, in fear that he could change his mind. 

He would not. 

Evan Macmillan was a man of his word, despite all his atrocities. 

...

The Trapper was in a daze of sorts as he returned to his empty iron works estate, caked in blood and serenely content. His endeavor proved to be even more fruitful than he imagined. His hard work paid off, the whispers of the Entity still praised him despite the bit of mercy he showed. In addition he found out so much. However, greedily, he wanted even more now. He closed his eyes now and visualized the object of his obsession, the new information he gathered painting a picture in his mind. Michael Myers, only twenty-one years old. A bad seed, they would say. 

“Michael Myers.” He said to himself aloud, tasting the syllables. 

Evan enjoyed having a real name to call him now; it made the man feel tangible. He was no longer just a silent deadly shape lingering in his thoughts. 

Michael Myers.

He felt real enough to touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy... so much graphic violence, so very little sexual content.  
> This will change with the following chapters.  
> Comments and suggestions are welcome!


	3. Chapter 3

The Trapper used to labor away in his shack with an emptiness of mind and soul that, in retrospect, was perversely peaceful. He would sweat away at maintaining his deadly traps with nothing but the kills in mind. Later, he began to test some of his imagination in expending upon his simple but lethal cleaver’s design. He pushed that creativity in making more masks purposely crude in finish but meticulous in their depiction of what he felt would instill fear in his victims. The scarred face of Evan Macmillan was hidden away and replaced with twisted, toothy grimaces and vaguely skull shaped monstrosities.

The Trapper’s work was driven by the whispers, fantasizing about the sacrifices he would provide for the Entity.

Staring at the masks in his workshop, he was now fantasizing about something else.

The whiteness of his own oldest and iconic mask now reminded him of The Shape’s blank, humanoid one. Behind the latex hid the unknown face of a young man that had only known murder and confinement. In the clinical cloister or in the brief time during his escape, had he ever even experienced the feel of another body on his? Had he ever experienced anything more intimate than the penetration of a steel knife through flesh? He found himself desperately hoping that he hadn’t and that the privilege would be his.

He wanted to claim him as his alone.

He pictured the other man pinned down by the throat, perhaps bloodied from a struggle, legs spread and muscles quaking from want under his weight. He would rip open those dark coveralls and bite and suck the flesh hidden beneath it, tasting him. Marking him. If he teased him just right would he break his silence and beg to let him cum?

He groaned as he brought his hand down to press on his growing erection, seeking some relief.

The physical desire he developed towards the other killer came as a surprise to The Trapper because he hadn’t imagined himself capable of it. He could not even remember what hunger or thirst felt like anymore, so he simply assumed his entire baser instincts followed suit. The lust insidiously trickled inside him as he thought about Michael Myers and it was too intense to be able to lie to himself any longer.

He could be so good to him.

He could show him what the hard touch of a man felt like.

Unbeknownst to him why, he suddenly pictured his father. Archie Macmillan, the humanization of strength and authority and everything he wanted to be. Everything he wanted to protect.

A flood of guilt crashed upon him and he snatched his hand away from himself as if burned. Dizzied and ashamed, he leaned his hands upon his worktop to steady himself.

Evan now remembered just how heavy the weight of his secret desires felt on his broad shoulders. He was the sole heir to the estate, but he never married, had he? He can’t recall, his life before the fog mainly a blur locked away by the whispers, but he strongly doubted he had. He hadn’t produced a new heir but he surely doubled his efforts to please his father instead. That, he could do. He could be the ruthless enforcer the Macmillan estate needed him to be.

Self-deprecatingly The Trapper noted that even in hellish rebirth, although murder and torture was the only thing expected of him, he still had the desire to fuck men.

He became aware of a strange feeling coursing through him and looked down at his hands on the wooden surface before him. Electricity was softly pulsating underneath his fingers and he felt indignation boil inside him. Of course Herman Carter would show up now of all times. He was most likely the cause of this troubled thoughts reemerging.

The Trapper turned to glower at the Doctor whom had finally showed up at his doorway and stood there, hands behind his back. He had brought his weapon with him, Evan noticed. The spiky rod was hanging on the belt of his overcoat at hand’s reach in case their interaction became violent. Herman, however, stopped a respectful distance away and smiled at him in the sick pastiche of a friendly neighbor simply dropping by for a visit.

“Hello, Evan.” He spoke in a rather cheerful disposition, which contrasted jarringly with the heavy mood hanging over the Trapper.  
“I take it you’ve been well but I thought I’d come see for myself. You see, I haven’t heard from you since you came to me with your predicament.”

Arms crossed over his chest, he answered in a harsh tone “If I wanted to see you I would have, Carter.”

The later seemed unperturbed, as always, and continued casually “Is that so? I figured maybe you’ve been busy with your little pet project and forgotten all about old acquaintances.” He tilted his head with a slight shrug. “Which I would understand, of course. I too, at times, had been so consumed by my research that all else fades away.”

The Doctor stared at him a little longer before adding. “You do seem very consumed at the moment. Were you just thinking about him?”

The Trapper felt like the other wasn’t actually asking but simply confirming what was most likely painfully obvious. He disliked the arrogance of his assumptions but he disliked that he was always right most of all. It made him wonder whether Herman was just very adept at reading others or if it was some sort of psychic ability.

Not wanting to appear affected, Evan stood unwavering, arms still crossed and kept his tone hostile. “My thoughts are my own damn business.”

"Oh! Private thoughts, were they?” The Doctor chuckled at that, his tone became teasing and his eyes glimmered wickedly. “Well, I certainly don’t need the gritty details in that case. I was just hoping you would share what you’ve learned from the Strode girl. My curiosity is sparked as well but rest assured, unlike you, my interest lies in psychological research alone.”

This triggered The Trapper and unable to keep his cool, he uncrossed his arms now with shoulders flexed and balled fists. He spat out venomously “I don’t know what you think you’re implying, but you better shut the hell up before I break what’s left of your face.” 

The Doctor snorted at that “So defensive.” He walked closer to the other with intent, staring directly in his glaring eyes. His tone was neither light nor teasing anymore.

“Is it so hard to admit that you’re a sodomite?”

The Trapper felt his cheeks heat in shame beneath his mask and a sinking feeling in his gut as soon as he heard the word. He clutched his fist and was about to lash out violently but The Doctor continued his train of thought.

“-… Or whatever other archaic or offensive term you would have used in your time. The same dated, ignorant time in history that would have deemed me inferior for the amount of melanin in my skin. I am confounded as to why you would carry that misplaced guilt over here with you. It’s simply illogical.”

Evan stood there dumbly, too surprised for words or movement. He expected cruelty and mockery, not scorn for his internalized homophobia.

The Doctor continued with the severity of a man speaking the truth. He had the intensity of one that had been holding back his opinion for some time now.

“Your father is dead and there is no God here to judge you. There is nothing here but the Entity and considering all the misdeeds it has us to for It’s will, I doubt it matters to It that you prefer the company of men.”

The Doctor sighed now, placing his hand on the other’s shoulder. The touch had no electricity or malice and that in itself almost made Evan flinch at its foreignness.

“So now, do stop all this repressed nonsense and please come to terms with the one facet of your despicable self that is actually blameless.”

The Trapper stared, incredulously. When he finally spoke, his tone had loss of his previous harshness; it was barely above a whisper. “What are you doing?”  
  
He shook his head, confused but his voice had regained his usual booming volume. “Are you trying to … what?” He gestured in the air now, as if trying to grasp the right word. “Reassure me?”

“Oh, my dear Evan.” Herman, having taken a few steps back, now shook his head at him sadly before adding indulgently “I consider you a friend and it pains me to see a friend torture himself needlessly so.”

The masked man snorted and couldn’t help but smirk at that. It was all so ludicrous; to have the man that break minds seem to be trying to mend his. “Yeah, not when you can do it better, right?”

“You flatter me.” Herman smiled sadistically at him then, his tone dripping with satisfaction, knowing full well this was true. It wouldn’t even be a challenge, with so many delicious issues to exploit.

Despite this, The Trapper found himself uncharacteristically grateful to the other killer and unsure how to express it. He had finally found the relief of acceptance, albeit it after he lost his humanity and descended to this hellish place. Perhaps the other knew this, and certainly didn’t expect him to express himself by thanking him, but he could very well get a favour out of him now.

The Doctor clapped his hands together once and resumed his cheerful demeanor from earlier “So, now that all that’s been said and done, why don’t go ahead and indulge me. My notes are painfully barren.”

He then pulled out his pen and notepad and looked purposefully at him.

 

The Trapper told the man what he knew about Michael Myers. If anything, The Doctor could have easily found all this out himself by cornering the same victim he had. He kept it strictly factual, making the details as broad as possible. He wanted to withhold some information but found himself unable to know what to censor. He wasn’t sure what The Doctor was after. He never was.

The later seemed content enough, which was always alarming, and he tucked away his notes when finished scribbling. “I suppose I should be on my way now. I have what I came for and I’m sure you have much to reflect over while you tinker away on your little contraptions, so I will leave you to that.” His condescension was the same as always, as if nothing really had changed at all. He turned then, on his way to the door.

Evan looked at Herman’s retreating form before calling out in his deep voice.

“Carter …”

The other paused at the door and The Trapper spoke calmly and seriously, making sure he could hear him. That he could hear without a shadow of a doubt how much he meant his next words. “If you ever try to do anything to him, or try to use what I’ve told you against him…”

The Doctor laughed that insane cackle of his at that and shook his head in disbelief, cutting off what was going to be graphic depiction of torture. He waved his hand dismissively at him, making sign he understood the threats well enough. “My, you really have it bad! It’s actually revoltingly sweet.”

He called out over his shoulder as he exited the killer’s shack. “I suggest you go ahead and actually do something about it.”

The Trapper watched him go and decided that it was time for him to head to Haddonfield.

After all, The Doctor’s advice had not steered him wrong so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here I was, half way through writing Trapper finally interacting with Michael when I realized that it really needed to be it's own chapter.  
> It's a bit of a short one this time but an update will follow shortly.  
> Comments and suggestions are always welcome!


	4. Chapter 4

As Evan Macmillan stood looking at the Myers residence with its ever-burning jack-o-lantern in the quiet and deserted Lampkin lane, he wondered if he would regret his actions later. The Shape was absent, most likely away on a trial, so he was left to explore his home as he pleased. A breech of Michael’s privacy surely but the prospect of finding out even more about the man was tantalizing. So he entered the house without much more afterthought. 

He was no fool. He came here with the intent of finally conveying his intentions to the other killer, but he was conscious that it could all go catastrophically wrong. It was probable that Michael only had interest in women. It was just as likely (at least according to the way Laurie Strode described him) that he simply had no interest in anything other than killing. Despite the chance of rejection and having no concrete plan in mind, he was determined to try. It was better than longing from afar. He was no fool but he was also no coward. 

The vacant house’s wooden stairs creaked under his heavy boots and he took the time to observe and access his surroundings. The suburban quality of this typical modern American house seemed innocuous enough but that in itself was off-putting. Where he was used to darkness, fog and decaying structures he found this façade of a perfect neighborhood potentially more menacing. Too careful to enter a territory brashly, he had brought his hunter’s sack and cleaver with him. He had to prepare for all eventualities. 

At last, he entered the bedroom he assumed Michael spent his idle time in. He had only observed him on the porch, but surely there were times he came in here, as evident from the few items scattered about the damaged furniture in the room. The objects seemed innocent enough; a hair brush, a few letters, some valueless jewelry. The Trapper saw the correlation quickly enough; they were all items belonging to a young woman. After a closer glance, he noticed the initials J. M. 

They were mementoes of his murdered sister. Did he keep of these items with him to remember Judith Myers? 

The Trapper’s instincts flared and he quickly turned his head towards the window beside him. He was wearing the mask with the open toothy grin that exposed a portion of his face and because of this his field of vision was wider than usual. He thought that he had caught sight of something in his peripheral vision. He narrowed his eyes and stared on, on high alert for any movement. Nothing. There was not even a rustle from the green foliage for there was no wind in the Entity’s replica neighborhood. He was faced with only the empty street and blinking lights of an abandoned police car. Reluctantly, he turned away and resumed his investigation.

He ran his hardened fingers over a dusty vanity mirror on a dresser and noticed beside it a blonde lock of hair held together with a simple elastic. He then recalled seeing The Shape stroking the tuft before a trial, his relatively placid energy morphing into something explicitly evil. The Trapper didn’t fancy himself an alienist but from conjecture he was able to piece certain things together. The other didn’t want to remember his sister in her living form; he wanted to reminisce the act of murdering her. 

He wanted to remember his very first kill. 

Evan was a sadistic brute, more so than the hapless Wraith for instance, but he killed with purpose in mind. 

For his father. 

For the Entity. 

Why did Michael kill? 

He turned away from the dresser after he was finished studying it’s content and headed towards the closet. A hunter doesn’t leave any stones unturned, and he was curious as to what was behind its simple white closed door. As calloused as he was, he felt unsettled at the strange and morbid sight he found there. 

There stood a large and heavy granite tombstone, ‘Our Beloved Daughter Judith Myers’ engraved in its front. Placed before it was a dead rabbit along with faded and dried larkspur flowers. The scene was like some unholy altar. 

The Trapper’s uneasiness grew unexplainably and, startled by some sort of premonition, he turned to look towards the bedroom doorway. In its wooden frame stood Michael Myers noiselessly staring at him. He felt his heart jump in his chest as genuine fright took hold of him for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

How long had he been standing there?

How could anyone possibly get the drop on him like that? 

The Trapper had tried to face Michael once before and was only met with cold unresponsiveness. He could tell from his stance alone that it was quite different this time. He was watching Evan quietly with a malevolent energy emanating from him, firmly grasping his long kitchen knife with his free hand balled in a fist. His blank mask was not betraying any emotion but the rage and killing intent was palpable. Suddenly, Michael Myers raised the gleaming blade and marched decisively towards him at a shocking speed. 

The Trapper’s killer instincts finally kicked in and he swung his heavy cleaver towards the man charging at him. Michael easily dodged the attack but it threw him off enough that his own stabbing motion missed. The long kitchen knife was raised again, ready for another attempt. 

Evan’s blood was pumping now, his fear morphed into some sick enjoyment in the prospect of a stimulating fight. His face contorted in a grin matching the permanent horrific one from his mask. 

He parried the descending knife with his cleaver, its blade bouncing off his larger and heavier weapon. He then lifted it above his head and swung it down with punishing force but to his dismay Michael had recovered faster than expected. The cruel knife was aimed at his jugular and, unable to stop his own momentum to dodge, Evan had to block it directly with his hand. He growled in pain as the steel impaled his palm and enraged, he shoulder-checked the other away.

The move was efficient due to his large frame and to the sharp metal lodged in his body and The Shape stumbled back. Evan took this opportunity to charge at him, heavy cleaver aimed at his chest. The other backed away closer to the edge of the room, just enough to avoid substantial damage from the slash. The cleaver had connected, cutting the dark blue fabric and leaving a superficial wound. Despite this, he seemed unresponsive to the pain. He kept his gaze intensely on The Trapper, raising his reddened blade in the air again, looking to spill more blood. 

Evan swung one more time, counting on The Shape backing away to avoid the attack. Calculating the fact that Michael Myers is the type of killer that is so intensely focused on his prey that he wouldn’t take the time to properly look around him. He, on the other hand, had not come to this place unprepared or empty-handed. 

The rewarding sound of the snapping of a well-placed trap was, as always, music to his ears. 

The Shape grunted in a mixture of pain and surprise and looked down disbelievingly at his trapped leg. The sharp teeth of the bear trap had broken through the tough leather of his worker’s boots and were lodged deep in his flesh. Skin painfully torn and blood flowing but mercifully for him, his footwear protected him from a bit of the impact. However, he was now backed up against a wall and unable to move away from the Trapper’s approaching form. 

Michael gazed up from his trapped foot to the looming man who was slowly walking over with the gait of a predator closing in on its prey. He stooped down to attempt to pry open the jaws of the bear trap but the older man savagely grabbed him by the collar of his coverall and shoved him back against the wall. The men regarded each other with intensity, both breathing hard from the struggle. 

The Trapper held him there for a moment, feeling the primal bloodlust course through him and reveling in its euphoria. The fight had brought out the beast in him, in more ways than one, but he comprehended he had restrain himself for now. He came here uninvited, like a thief in the night, so this violent eruption between them was bound to happen. He was certainly not about to offer any sort of apology for his intrusion but perhaps he could offer some explanation. 

The older man didn’t release his hold on Michael’s collar but he loosed it some, which earned him a slight head tilt.

He grumbled “Look here, I …-” His words were suddenly interrupted and turned to a gargled groan as sudden, excruciating pain hit him. 

Michael’s had stabbed him in his side, the long and sharp blade penetrating through his muscles and sliding easily between his ribs. The other still had his weapon and The Trapper felt reckless for letting his guard down. He foolishly got distracted, surely too excited at finally being in such proximity with the object of his desire. A second more and he would puncture his lung. 

The Trapper had to drop his own cleaver to quickly grab hold of The Shape’s wrist to prevent him from pushing the blade any further. It had just missed vital organs but not for lack of trying from the voiceless killer’s part. His vice grip on the wrist was powerful, surely enough to bruise, but was not enough to make him drop the knife.

In retaliation to the strong hand preventing his from penetrating deeper, Michael twisted the blade viciously. The Trapper growled out in agony and, infuriated, released his collar to instead grab him by the face and slammed his head into the wall behind him. 

The resonating sound of the impact was stomach turning in the quiet room, but the resilient killer didn’t stop twisting the blade. So he did it again and again; until the wall cracked bellow his skull, until at last he felt the hold on the knife loosen. He was able to pry it away from him and out of his flesh and finally chucked it out of reach. 

The Trapper now moved his injured hand away from The Shape’s face and the mask’s formerly pristine white surface was stained with a large, bloody mark. Michael was being so still now, as if he had lost consciousness. Momentarily forgetting it was his own blood, he thought he had gone too far and fatally injured the young man. 

But anyone who listened to Laurie Strode’s warnings should know that Michael was not done yet. Having unexpectedly regained his bearings, he reached out to grab at the metal lodged in Evan’s shoulder. This was either to injure him or in an attempt to pull one out to use as a new weapon, now that he was disarmed. 

Beyond frustrated, Evan grabbed both his wrists now and pinned them to the wall above his head. He bellowed at him commandingly. “Stop, damn it! I don’t want to fight you!” Surely the other didn’t believe him nor cared to stop because he still struggled against his firm hold. 

The Trapper had to stop this from escalating further for they were certain to kill each other. Surely the Entity would piece their broken bodies back together, not sanctioning the permanent death of any of Its slaves, but that wasn’t his worry. He frantically wanted to other to understand that he came here to convey something. 

He spoke again with authority but in a more controlled volume. “That’s not why I’m here, Michael.” 

The white mask before him remained inexpressive as always but he felt a change in attitude in the confined man. The Shape was surprised to hear him speak his given name. Perhaps this alone was the reason he stopped struggling but The Trapper felt his heart swell at the small progress he made. 

He licked his lips now and paused, looking penetratingly into the masked face. He was not a particularly well-spoken man but he was imposing and intense, surely he would be able to get his message across.

He did not relinquish the hold on the wrist but he smoothly stroked the bruising flesh with his thumbs as he spoke. “I’ve been watching you for some time now, Michael Myers.”

The Trapper leaned in close enough to fill the small gap between their bodies, his great chest pressed against the other’s firm one. In the new intimate proximity, he tilted his head to speak closer to his ear, deep voice a rumbling whisper. “You would know about that, wouldn’t you? Watching someone. Obsessed with the thought of them…” 

He paused meaningfully and could feel the quickening of a beating heart and was unsure whom it belonged to. “…Until you get to the boiling point and you’re unable to contain yourself. ”

How easy it would be to bite down on the small bit of exposed skin of neck before him if he weren’t wearing his grinning mask. Regrettably he was and pulled back but kept their bodies a mere inch from each other. He looked him over appreciatively before continuing. 

“It’s not the kill I’m after, Michael. I want... something else.” 

Slowly he loosened his grasp on the younger man’s wrist and his hands travelled deliberately down his sides until they rested on his hips. Feeling no opposition at this, his boldness grew and he dug his fingers into the flesh and he forced their hips flush together. The proof of his growing arousal was now impossible for The Shape to ignore and he thought he heard a hitching breath from him. 

The Trapper’s tone was possessive and resolute, bordering on threatening. “I want you.”

Myers’ breathing became heavier than before and his now freed hands were trying to find purchase against the wall behind him. There was tremulousness to him now that one never would have anticipated from of such a terrifying murderer. Not a word was spoken in return to the declaration but Evan could feel his body responding encouragingly, his budding hardness manifesting. 

The Trapper had suspected, if not craved, that this whole ordeal would be uncharted territories and potentially overwhelming. The sadistic beast in him reveled in having the other at his mercy but he needed to make sure he comprehended was he was getting himself involved in. 

One large roaming hand left Michael’s hip and climbing up his stomach, over his injured chest. He teasingly toyed with the top button of the dark clothing and spoke with a certain paternal tenderness now, “Maybe you don’t fully understand what I mean yet, but I can show you.” 

As if to give him a taste of what could be, he grinded hard against him, their clothed erections firmly pressed together in stimulating friction. He definitely heard the hitch in his breath this time, the younger man trying hard at remaining so meticulously quiet despite the attack on his senses. It made The Trapper even keener on endeavoring to unravel him. 

He rumbled huskily in his ear. “I have so much to show you, boy.”

With that however, he abruptly removed himself from Michael’s frame.

“But not now.” 

As much as he wanted to fall victim to his baser instincts, this was not the time. Not with the adrenaline from their violent outburst potentially impairing their judgment. Not while the clearly inexperienced man was caught in a bear trap he laid out to keep him from escaping his grasp. Being the Entity’s hostages in this hellish realm of never-ending death, suffering and rebirth meant he had all the time in the world. He would play his cards right. He was playing for keeps, after all.

The Trapper now picked up his fallen cleaver from the floor and marched towards the doorway with a deceitful nonchalance. He projected control but without the titillation of the other’s body his hemorrhaging injuries throbbed anew. He knew the blood was pooling beneath him, ironically similarly to an injured survivor on a trial. 

He looked over his shoulder at the unmoving Shape against the wall, who was perhaps too baffled by their exchange and it’s sudden break to do much else. His breathing was still loud, his hands plastered against the wall. The other’s energy was completely unreadable now as he watched Evan silently with the eerie attentiveness that was distinctive to him. 

Evan decided then he would leave behind the traps distinctive to himself he had secretly laid out around the house. It would give the man something to remember him by.

“I’ll wait for you at the Macmillan estate, Michael. Come to me if you’re interested in what I can give you.”

He left the room and didn’t look back after, despite the unshakable feeling of that penetrating stare following him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They finally meet! Hope it wasn't lackluster.  
> I think Michael Myers is genuinely creepy, I wanted to convey that ... and still make it sexy? 
> 
> Comments and suggestions are always welcome!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : _There is some description of past physical child abuse in this chapter. I honestly feel that Evan Macmillan was beaten by his father, it's pretty heavily implied in his character bio. Perhaps this warning is unnecessary, but I rather be safe than sorry._

Evan Macmillan staggered to his estate with a cloudy mind, blood still flowing at an alarming rate despite his hand covering his stab wound. There had to be some sort of regenerative power in this realm, for all his deceased victims came back for more trials, yet he hadn’t healed yet. He seriously wondered if he would die from his injuries and what would happen then. A rebirth, surely, nonetheless he could not be certain since he had never experienced it firsthand. Death itself did not alarm him but the prospect of not seeing Michael Myers again left a bad taste in his mouth.

The Trapper leaned his large, weary body against the wall of his killer’s shack once he made it inside and tried to regain his bearings. While doing so, he suddenly recalled an event from his childhood. He had sporadically unlocked fogged memories in the past, though it seemed to have been happening much more frequently as of late. 

He remembered his father, in response to some transgression he couldn’t recall, dragging him outside and beating him so relentlessly that he couldn’t walk anymore. He was then left on the ground where he had fallen and spent the night in the yard. His small, shivering body was too battered to be able to rise on his own so he laid there alone for hours. 

The Trapper considered this new memory yet held no resentment to his progenitor for he was certain that he had done it for his own good. Cognitive dissonance made it impossible for him to think harshly of Archie Macmillan whom he admired so. Evan became strong, resilient and ruthless as he grew older and it was the commanding hand of his father that had shaped him so. 

Why he recalled this now of all times he was unsure, but he felt that the Entity did not permit such things by chance. Though now was not the time for reveries; he had to stop the bleeding. 

Evan unhooked the clasps of his overall and let the garment fall around his waist, hissing a bit as he removed his hand from his gaping stab wound to find something to mend himself with. Though covered in grime, he had some loose fabric in his workshop that he ripped and used as a makeshift bandage. The potential risk of infection was much less pressing than stopping the hemorrhage. He began by tightly wrapping his perforated palm and then his bleeding side.

After he was done, The Trapper contemplated his bare-chested body, noting the deep painful scars that marked his muscled flesh alongside his new injury. How he got those he could not recall precisely, perhaps the memory too inhumane for his mind to register but in his heart he knew the answer. It was the cruel claws of the Entity that had torn him apart. It had destroyed him altogether and molded him anew into the brutal monster he was now, perhaps only keeping the basic corruption that attracted the being to Evan to start with. 

Had the same thing happened to Michael Myers? 

The question led to his mind being flooded with the fresh memories of his contact with The Shape. He thought of the sensation of the other’s body against his. It had felt firm and well built, if not a bit slimmer than his own frame. His uninjured hand traveled down his trousers and he grasped his hardening member with a groan. The Trapper recalled every hitching breath and every delectable tremor he elicited out of him. It almost seemed impossible to him now that he had the willpower to not escalate things further, so his imagination filled the rest.

His hardened, bloodstained fingers felt rough against the sensitive flesh but his hand was skilled and experienced by what must be instinctual muscle memory. He had not pleasured himself in all his time in the Entity’s realm but there are some things one never forgets. 

He closed his eyes and saw himself pushing Michael down to his knees before him; lifting that expressionless mask just enough to thrust himself in the other’s hot, waiting mouth. Michael wouldn’t exactly know what to do on his own but he wouldn’t need to with Evan directing the punishing pace with a firm grasp on the back of his head. The boy would swallow up the thick member as best as he could, trying his best not to choke as it hit the back of his throat. Michael would try so hard to be good for him.

The Trapper groaned in pleasure as his pumping hand picked up the pace, feeling himself getting closer to the edge. He was now circularly stroking his sensitive swollen tip, imagining the other’s curious, experimenting tongue pleasing him as he opened up his jaws to take him in even further. 

His orgasm hit him fiercely and suddenly and he came hard is his hand, picturing pulling out of the other’s wet mouth and spilling himself all over that white latex mask. The intensity of the sensation left him dizzied and he took a moment to catch his breath, thankful for the wall supporting him. He was finally able to collect himself and he absently wiped his soiled hand on a bit of left over cloth from his makeshift bandages.

Now that he had climaxed he felt calm anew and he was finally able to think clearly. He replayed his interaction with the young man in his mind once more, analytically rather than lustfully this time. He was confident he had done the right thing and now all he had to do was wait for Myer’s decision. He was used to waiting after all; it seems that all he ever did before. 

Wait for the whispers’ order and prepare for trials. 

Surely it was not so long ago yet it seemed so much had changed in him since then. Perhaps having a new purpose arose something in him, a different perspective and introspection. Awoke something other than the whispers. 

Now, at what seemed like incredibly poor timing, The Trapper felt the invisible embrace of the Entity as he was called for a trial. The blood loss had taken its toll on him and his injuries throbbed but he was a diligent servant. He was determined to mercilessly slaughter with as much vigor as he would have any other time, for it was his own selfishness that resulted in the state he was in. He was raised to bear whatever consequences his actions brought forth and to never forgo his obligations, no matter the toll it took on him. 

It seemed that the Entity was kinder than his father had been in that respect for his body was healed as soon as the fog engulfed him. 

… 

It was very subtle at first but as time went on, The Trapper was certain that he was being watched. There was no evidence of this, at least not at first. It was just a feeling that he would get, a prickling in his spine as he walked back to his estate after a trial or as he would toil away in his workshop. He made a point of not changing his behavior despite the unnerving impression of being stalked. 

Eventually, though he had not yet caught a glimpse of the silent shape despite his attentiveness to his surroundings, Evan remarked some physical evidence of his presence. He would return to his estate to find some of his personal items slightly out of place, or sometimes missing all together. He noticed one of his masks slightly askew on it’s display amongst the others, or he was unable to find a tool he knew for a fact he left on his worktable. The behavior would have irritated him under any other circumstance but he couldn’t help feeling indulgent. 

Of course he knew that Michael Myers was the one watching him but it became undeniable the moment he returned from a trial to find a pile of rusty bear traps piled in the middle of the floor of his killer’s shack. Eyes narrowed, he cautiously approached the objects and crouched down for a better look. He recognized them as being the traps he left scattered in the Myer’s home. With a smug smirk, he noticed some dried blood on at least one of them, evidence of a clever placement. 

As he gathered them he noticed that there was one missing and wondered if Michael had found them all, or if he was keeping one as a memento. 

This mystery was resolved a bit later as he stepped outside and felt the sudden, sharp snap of the metal jaws closing in on his ankle. He grunted in surprise and stared down incredulously at his trapped foot. He felt infuriated for a moment, reminded of the few times he would foolishly step in his own trap during a trial, too distracted by the hunt to remember his placement. 

That trap was certainly not there when he entered his home; he would have noticed it walking in. Looking up, Evan caught a glimpse of him then, but only for a moment. Evidently, Michael Myers had wanted his presence known. 

This told him two things; firstly that The Shape was so impressively adept at silently stalking him that he was able to set up a trap in his close vicinity without his knowledge. The second being that the man, despite his blank façade, had some semblance of a sense of humor to have come up with this ironic retribution. The thought made him snort slightly despite himself. 

From that moment on, The Trapper caught glimpses of the other more frequently. It was but a silhouette from afar but slowly his form would get closer and closer. It almost reminded him of a wild animal gradually venturing nearer, curiosity tromping it's initial guarded nature and unsuspectingly on its way to being tamed. 

This cumulated to finally finding The Shape standing outside his open door, silently and openly staring at him. He held his long kitchen knife in his hand but did not seem to have any intentions of using it. Evan was not going to make any assumptions in that regards, their last interaction had showed him the violent unpredictability of the killer. Though he hoped his coming to his estate was in direct response to his offer, the possibility of a nefarious intent was real. 

The Trapper walked over and stopped a mere inches away from him, arms crossed across his broad chest in the domineering stance he usually adopted around others. “Are you here to kill me?” 

Michael Myers slowly tilted his head at that, as if he was considering the question but was still uncertain of his own intent. After a moment he nodded his head no. 

The Trapper nodded in response. “Good.” 

Evan stepped closer to regard him hungrily, grateful to finally being able to do so after what seemed like an eternity. His voice was gruff and low “You made me wait, boy. I’ve been very patient with you.” 

He deliberately reached out and placed a hand on Michael’s chest, feeling his body stiffen for a moment with uncertainty but not leaning away from the touch. Encouraged, he ventured upwards to the only bit of exposed flesh before him. His fingers stroked the bare collarbone above his black shirt, the skin felt surprisingly soft under his touch. “Do you know what I intend to do with you now?” 

Not waiting for a response, he wrapped his hand around his neck and leaned to speak directly in his ear now, his deep voice foreboding. “I’m going to fuck you, Michael.”

The other’s breathing stopped for just a moment before it resumed with a slight tremor and he stared at him silently before slowly, almost unperceivably nodding once in response. 

With a wolfish grin hidden behind his mask, Evan tilted his head at him and moved his hand from his neck to his shoulder to lead him inside.

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay in the update, I was away overseas for a couple of weeks.  
> I'm not entirely pleased with this chapter but I'm still glad to have updated. 
> 
> Comments and suggestions are always welcome!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, its by far my longest chapter and its mainly just smut…  
> Lets be real, that's what most of you were waiting for. X'D

There was nothing particularly comfortable about Evan Macmillan’s home; it was all sharp iron and hardened wood surfaces. Light was sparse when not illuminating his worktable and the strong smell of metal, sweat and blood clung in the air. He was a workhorse through and through and all that he had in terms of furniture was steel stools or work benches. He didn’t have comfortable, red velvet chairs like The Doctor or even dingy mattresses like in the Myer’s residence. The Trapper never had leisure in mind. This could have been bothersome had he premeditated some sort of tender encounter but he wasn’t planning on taking it easy on the other killer. 

The Trapper wasn’t a soft man and he knew that Michael Myers was strong enough to handle it. 

The later was noiselessly watching his surroundings as he was led inside with his menacing kitchen knife still in hand. Without speaking a word, Evan’s hand traveled from his shoulder down to his hand as he reached for the weapon. There was a tense moment between the men that easily could have erupted into a violent struggle if mishandled. Both held their ground, eyes locked, and gradually Michael loosened his hold on the knife, allowing the other to take and drop it to the floor. 

They both knew that The Shape did not actually need his signature weapon to be deadly, nonetheless the act of relinquishing it voluntarily spoke volumes. 

Evan stepped directly behind him and closed the gap between their bodies, pressing against his back, large hands holding his hips firmly in place. He could feel the muscled back against his chest and he unapologetically pressed his groin against his backside. Their similar heights allowed their frames to line up perfectly. He smirked as he felt the other tense up against him apprehensively at his ministrations but making no attempt to pull away. If anything, he seemed to inquisitively press back against him, his muffled breathing a bit uneven. 

Evan found the uncertainty enchanting and it awoke something primal in him. He wanted to both cradle the other in some sick paternal protection and also completely and utterly wreck him. He anticipated his virginity already but he found himself needing to confirm it verbally. So he leaned his head close to Michael’s ear, pressing his chin in the crook of his neck “‘This your first time with a man?” 

The Shape didn’t move at first, keeping his gaze slightly downcast as he seemed to digest the question and what it meant. He then softly nodded his head once. 

A pang of arousal shot through Evan at the confirmation and he let out a long breath through his nose to steady himself. The fact that he would be his first encounter with a man should have been enough but it somehow wasn’t. Greedily, he wanted to know that he was the only one to ever have him. 

His deep voice was a bit gravelly, thick from arousal. “Is this your first time at all?” 

Michael turned his head slightly now, side glancing in his direction without providing an answer. The mask remained expressionless as always but Evan could feel that the hesitation stemmed from not knowing if he ought to reveal anything more about himself to another. 

Unfortunately for the mysterious killer, The Trapper’s patience had run out some time ago and he wasn’t going to tolerate stubbornness. He was no fool, he knew the man in his grasp was a force to be reckoned with but he would make him understand that he was not the one in control now. 

One hand released his hip to sternly grip his throat instead and squeezed warningly, just short of hard enough to cut off breathing. Michael’s hand shot up to vehemently grasp his forearm defensively in response, aggressive instincts flaring. Evan ignored this and slowly, meaningfully rolled his hips against him, the fingers still on his hip digging with enough force to mark the skin. 

He tightened his hold on Michael’s neck as he spoke, his tone darkened with authority this time. “Answer me, boy. Have you ever done this before?” 

The Shape let out a shaky breath in response to the sensual rocking and the bruising hands on him. Pressing back against the other’s solid body, the younger finally acquiescing under the Trapper’s intense watch and nodded his head no. 

The answer satisfied Evan and he released his hold with a pleased hum. “Good boy.”

He whipped Michael around so that they were facing now and he leaned his masked face close to his, foreheads pressing together. He practically purred at him now, his deep voice laced with promise of what’s to come. “Don’t you worry, daddy’s going to take good care of you.” 

His roaming hands ran up his clothed abdomen, fingers none too gently ripping at the buttons of blue coveralls in the process to pry the garment open, exposing the black shirt under. He could start to feel it, the slight tremor beneath his fingers as the other began unraveling under the intensity of his attention.

Lacking a sturdy surface to proceed further, The Trapper guided Myers backwards until the young man found himself pinned between his worktop and his own imposing frame. With a swift motion, Evan swept his large arm across the surface to clear the clutter behind them, noisily sending tools and traps flying. He then reached down and grabbed the back of Michael’s thighs and brusquely hoisted him up and dropped him on the table. 

The Shape let out a slight, surprised grunt at that, clearly not used to being manhandled by anyone. He was not a small man but neither was the one who made light work of lifting him. His hands found purchase on Evan’s shoulders between the sharp metal protruding from his flesh as the later placed himself between his opened legs and ravenously contemplated him. Like a wolf about to devour a lamb, The Trapper tilted his head at him, letting out a dark chuckle as he grasped his thighs and firmly stroked his way up. “ Oh, the things I’m going to do to you…” 

Evan relished in knowing that the other was, in actuality, unsure of what was going to be done to him, having never experienced it before. It gave him an extra layer of control he wanted to exploit while he could. 

The older man decided that the other was wearing far too much clothing and hastily pushed the dark blue fabric down Michael’s shoulders. With the top garment removed, he was left in the black t-shirt and Evan ran his calloused fingers over his bare, muscled arms. He was stunned at how soft the skin felt, how perfect it looked. With an appreciative groan, he grabbed the hem of the shirt and lifted it up just above his pectorals and took in the sight. 

The unblemished skin was almost milky pale, and unlike his own, it was devoid of scars aside from barely perceptible circular marks, most likely left from bullet holes. Shockingly, there was no sign of disfiguration like so many other killers in this realm and no scratches from the sadistic claws of the entity. He could see the quick rise and fall of the muscle before him as Michael’s breathing quickened under his watchful eyes, unaccustomed with being gazed at so openly. He ran his hand over the toned stomach and up, cupping his chest appreciatively; thumb brushing over the dusty pink nipple. 

Evan felt the slight shutter beneath his touch and shook his head in disbelief; his low voice a barely audible grumble. “ Just look at you …” 

His wandering hands weren’t enough anymore; he also wanted to taste the man before him. He made quick work of unclasping his grinning mask and chucked it dismissively on the table. Despite being scarred, Evan was not self-conscious about his appearance. Though perhaps not classically handsome, his features were masculine and robust; they matched the rest of his brutish figure. 

Although not a romantic man, The Trapper felt a strong urge to kiss Michael. He wondered if perhaps he should have started with that; explored his mouth, showed him how good it felt. He impulsively reached out to grasp the synthetic hair and without any thought of potential consequences to his actions, he yanked the mask off. 

Evan was certainly not prepared for the sight before him. Of all the times he had pictured his encounter with Michael Myers, his mind could never quite fill the gap of what his appearance could be beneath the unsettling white latex. How could he have possibly expected such handsome features, with dark blond hair in loose curls framing a face bordering on angelic innocence? It was flawless if not for the scar over his left eye, a permanent reminder of his confrontation with Laurie Strode. That this was the real face of the terrifying killer seemed too incredible to be true and yet there it was before him. 

Michael’s pale eyes were wide with fright and his cheeks flushed from their previous activities, his pretty mouth agape in shock at being exposed. It had only been a few seconds but Evan knew the sight was going to be seared in his mind forever. He felt himself becoming impossibly aroused in response to the vulnerability that was so plainly revealed. 

The Trapper understood then that although Michael could hold back his voice, he couldn’t control his facial expression. The blank mask locked away all his insecurities and what little remaining humanity he still had. The white latex had appeared anodyne, if not a bit creepy, but it essentially allowed him to fully become an embodiment of dread. The mask was the final piece to his becoming the ruthless shape of evil in guise of a man. 

This moment of insight was short lived, however. He realized he made a grave mistake as he watched the mortified young man scrambling to pull his mask over his uncovered face. Once the mask back in place, an enraged Michael reached for a loose scrap of metal beside him and viciously stabbed at the older man. Evan, being the more composed of the two, barely managed to catch hold of his arm before the hit connected and scowled. “ Stop it!”

The Trapper sensed he put their fragile bond in jeopardy by inadvertently crossing a line he shouldn’t have at the present time. He felt his heart thump in panic and understood he absolutely needed to calm Michael down and remedy what he had done. Although he was never one to offer apologies, he recognized that stepping on his pride was necessary.

He seized The Shape’s wrist firmly in place beside him to stop further attempts at attacking him. He spoke seriously and with uncharacteristic concern, hoping his sincerity would be evident on his features now that they lay bared before him. “Michael, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

It took a tense moment before Michael’s eyes, previously blatantly searing with indignant fury, gradually placated. The Trapper was impossibly relieved to feel the young man’s limbs relax beneath his hold once more. 

Evan nodded at him and spoke calmly in the same paternal tone he had once used in the Myers residence, when he promised he would teach him pleasure. It was commanding without being threatening. “ I’m going to reach for your mask now, but I won’t pull it all the way off. I just want your mouth.” He slowly brought his hands to the bottom of the mask, keeping watchful eye contact while doing so.

Michael’s placidity was volatile, that much was apparent by his coiled fists that were ready to strike again at any second. Still, he was allowed to methodically roll up the white latex until the sought-after lips and the bottom of his nose were exposed. 

The Trapper was thrilled by the progress and gruffly spoke in an encouraging tone, running a thumb over his newly bared bottom lip. “ That’s it, boy…” He then roughly grabbed his chin and crushed their mouths together. He wanted this whole ordeal behind them for now and what better way to distract him?

The kiss was hard and bruising, his scarred and cracked lips rough against Michael’s softer ones. Evan wasted no time pushing his tongue inside and tangling with the uncertain one there. The other didn’t know how to proceed; nonetheless he was trying his best to return the embrace with as much fervor. He was struggling to gain some control back while being so dominated by the brutish man claiming his mouth. 

The Trapper wasn’t about to allow him to get his bearings, his hands traveled down again to firmly take hold of his ass and squeeze the malleable flesh while pressing his bulk between his open thighs. He felt the other’s gasp in his mouth and swallowed it as he repeated the grinding motion anew, teasing them both. He pulled back now with a look in his eyes bordering on predatory and grabbed the waist of the dark coverall, forcibly tugging them along with whatever undergarment he had on. 

Michael caught on quickly enough and lifted his hips to facilitate the removal of his clothing, kicking off one boot in the process. He was now only left with his black t-shirt and Evan decided that he wasn’t going to risk pulling it off and accidently wrench off the mask again. Besides, he found him even more tempting half dressed like that, with the black fabric unable to cover his sizable blushing erection. 

Perhaps feeling uneasy at being so exposed and wanting to take some initiative, the mute killer ran his fingers over The Trapper’s broad chest. He inquisitively felt the damaged flesh there before grabbing at the metal clasp holding his overall to undress him back. 

With a rumble in the back of his throat, the older snatched his wandering hands, yanking him close to huskily whisper in his ear. “No. You just sit back, like a good boy.” His lust filled voice was overpowering with that harsh, commanding trenor he seemed to have mastered. “Daddy’s got you.” 

Deprived of the mask hiding the bottom half of his face, Evan could feel the shuttering breath escaping Michael’s lips in response to his command. Enflamed by desire for more reaction, he moved his mouth from his ear to his neck and bit down, hard. To Michael’s credit, he was able to keep quiet despite the bright red teeth mark left behind on the previously pristine skin. So, Evan bit him again with hands crawling under the black shirt and teased the hardening nipples he found there. No noise still, just a mouth agape and quivers beneath his touch but this was satisfying too. 

The quiet man was so responsive in fact that he really did not feel right about going on teasing him so. The Trapper released one pink nub to reach down and seized his neglected erection instead. He felt the man jump slightly at the new touch but from the way he reached out and grabbed the wide shoulders in front of him while opening his legs a bit wider, it was obviously welcomed. With a rough but clearly experienced hand he began stroking him, taking in the lovely tremors he drew out with each rub.

The trapper was not expecting Michael to last very long, to be frank. He certainly didn’t mind, he wanted him pliable for what he had in store next. Without slowing his strokes, he lifted the black shirt again and leaned to lick and bite at the muscle flesh to mark him there too. The other’s strong fingers digging painfully in his shoulders were the only signal he got before he felt the hot spill in his hand. Once more, The Shape had managed to keep himself from crying out. 

Evan smirked at him now, tilting his head as he finished milking the now overly sensitive member. “That’s it, what a sweet boy.” And what a sight the other made too, flustered like he was, with one hand clutching his forearm that was cruelly teasing him past his orgasm.

He grabbed his chin, his thumb running over the reddened lip before he slipped it inside his mouth. “Did it feel good? Of course it did.” He spoke in his low, deep voice as he rubbed the pad of his thumb over his tongue, enjoying its warm wetness. Enjoying the perplexed but oddly pleasured reaction from Michael. With that lewd grip, he brought his face closer to his before releasing him. “It’s time for daddy to feel good too. Just trust me, boy… The best part’s coming.” 

With his hand still slick from Michael’s semen, he slowly circled his entrance before slipping inside. Michael gripped at his arms again, startled by the intrusion, with a very quiet gasp escaping his lips but nothing more. Evan wanted it to be as comfortable as possible, regardless of how eagerly he wanted to just fuck him. Despite the other’s seemingly high resistance to pain he didn’t want to take the risk of having it feel excruciating. After all, so it had to be pleasurable for both of them if he wanted it to happen again.

The Trapper did remember how to do this, even without any concrete memory attached to the act of sex. His large fingers were rough and he wasn’t going as slow as he perhaps should but he knew where to aim. He heard it faintly then, a hushed moan escaping from Michael and it was then he knew he simply couldn’t wait anymore. He did quick work of unclasping his overalls, the fabric pooling around his waist as he pulled himself out, slicking himself as best he could with the remaining wetness on his hand. 

As he pushed himself inside, The Trapper covetously wished he could see Michael’s face instead of just his parted mouth and his strong limbs, which were shaking slightly from the exertion of being taken for the first time. He would just have to bide his time for that, work his way there. 

His pace was slow at first, torturous for him, but it gave him time to appreciate the sight of his engorged member disappearing in the hot virgin tightness. Eventually he felt the other loosen a bit, his legs wrapping themselves around his waist to encourage movement. He finally was able to stop restraining himself. His large hands clung those hips with ardor, looking to bruise, and he began fucking him mercilessly. The wood table creaked under their weights, threatening to break from the stress but Evan didn’t care. 

The Trapper didn’t know how long he would be able to last. It was too warm. It was too tight. It was too good. He heard a quiet moan from the other who just wasn’t able to keep quiet under his snapping hips and that alone almost unraveled him. He couldn’t help jumbled words escaping his mouth, telling the killer how good he was. He felt Michael quiver anew underneath his punishing thrusts and when he felt the sudden wetness on his stomach he was finally able to let go with a groan and came inside him. 

The Trapper held him then, his crushing arms would have choked a weaker man and the sharp metal from his limps were painfully digging into the skin. Perhaps it was a side effect from the post-orgasmic high but The Shape didn’t seem to mind the embrace. 

…

“Do you remember your life before this place?” 

Evan Macmillan’s question broke what he had deemed was a long but comfortable silence that had settled between the killers. After they recovered and untangled themselves from one another they had both sat in close proximity, shoulders almost touching. Time had passed in a strange serenity that was unusual of the violent, death-ridden world they inhabited. 

The Trapper was perhaps pushing his luck but he wanted to confirm something he had been suspecting for quite some time. Information was hard to get from a man that did not speak. He had to think of his question and this seemed to be the best way to get at what he sought in as little words as possible. 

Michael Myers tilted his head inquisitively before turning his gaze away from him and into the distance. He seemed to contemplate the inquiry and what the other meant by it. He then looked back at the Trapper and nodded his head yes. 

Evan grunted a bit in response and nodded back. It was as he thought. Michael Myers’s memories were not locked away because he had not been altered and corrupted like so many of the hapless killers of the fog. 

Unlike himself, Michael Myers was devoid of scars for he had not been destroyed and rebuilt by the Entity. It deemed him to be suitable as he was; A perfect, natural born killer. 

Evan strongly suspected that although the other participated in the trials, it was not the whispers that directed him but something that came from within himself. That something had been present in him for his entire young life. It’s hardly surprising he could go and slay the survivors by his hand without any supernatural aid. It seemed so obvious to him now he wondered how it was such a mystery to him to start with. 

Perhaps the Entity spoiled him a bit too much to let him have his fun like this but who was he to judge. The Trapper was neither bitter nor resentful by this realization because he too found Michael to be perfection. 

They sat together some more as the older mused upon this before his deep voice broke the silence once again.

“You chose to be here.” 

It was not really an enquiry this time, more of an affirmation. Michael knew it because he made no movement in response thought he had heard. There could be ambivalence as to whether Evan meant this very moment or his presence in the fog but both were true regardless. 

Evan also made no movement to stop The Shape as he pulled his coveralls back over his shoulders and buttoned it back up. He smirked a bit at the sight of the red welts from his bites that were still visible on his neck. He recalled the bruises his grip left on his hips and felt satisfaction in knowing he had marked him so. Surely they would all fade away with the Entity’s powers by his next trial but right now he was branded as his. 

Michael had gotten up to pick up his weapon that had been lying on the floor where The Trapper had left it earlier and headed towards the door. The later watched him and felt startled at how much he was already longing to touch him again. This attachment should not have surprised him considering all the efforts he put into getting this far. 

He did call out to him, gruff voice not betraying the fondness he began to feel. “Boy, you make me wait this long again and I’m going to come for you myself, understand?” 

Michael paused a bit at the words and looked over his shoulder at him before turning and walking out.

He understood.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being a bit more sentimental than I expected but I hope you enjoyed it.  
> Comments and suggestions are always welcomed!
> 
>  
> 
> I am planning on writing a sequel in Myer's perspective so keep an eye out if interested.  
> This relationship doomed to be pretty damn dysfunctional since Mikey boy is an obsessive psychopath.  
>  ~~I want the Doctor there too because he's also just horrible and so much fun to write.~~


End file.
